


Almost

by yay_for_absurdism



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Is Jealous, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, and a dick, but Grunkle Stan isn't actually there, it's Bill pretending to be Stan, most of it takes place in Ford's dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yay_for_absurdism/pseuds/yay_for_absurdism
Summary: Bill had everything he wanted. Almost.In which Bill messes with Ford's dreams.





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wowie, my first fic for AO3. 
> 
> Enjoy, friends.

At first, he just sat back and watched. 

Sure, he was very good at reading people (trillions of years of life experience can really increases one's perceptiveness), but even so, it was impossible to know everything about a person just by talking to them. Even if said person was usually pretty bad at lying. 

Luckily, Bill didn't have to rely on such mundane ways of getting to know a person. He was a near omnipotent dream-demon after all, why waste time with banal chatter? Why not just mosey into their mind and take a peak around. 

Sure, he could poke around Ford's mind all he wanted now, the man had naively shaken his hand and allowed the demon free range in his cranium. But where was the fun in that? That was just too easy. Bill had all the time in the world, he'd waited a trillion years so waiting a couple more meant nothing to him. He had a brand-new plaything, so damn right he was going to milk this one for all it was worth.

After all, he lived for fun. 

Dreams were kind of like watching a movie, if you were high and the actors were high and the screen was on fire and underwater and in space all at the same time. They weren't linear, weren't realistic, didn't make sense. And that's why Bill loved them. Reality in this dimension was pretty boring, but the dreams of the resident life forms made it worth it. 

So at first, all he did was sit back and enjoy Ford's dreams like he was watching a movie. He even brought along some popcorn, he couldn't taste it but he liked the concept, and relaxed as the mind of his current host chugged along in slumber. 

The man's dreams were very unique; they of course held that helter-skelter dream-weirdness that all dreams had, but even so the images maintained a realistic edge to them that Bill had rarely seen, in this dimension or any other. But, that was to be expected from this genius freak-of-nature. Of course Ford's dreams would be as realistic and scientific as he could manage.

Night after night, Bill sat and watched the amalgamation of Ford's thoughts and memories race past in mind-melting, brain-numbing, acid-tripping high definition. There were a lot of dreams about the oddities around Gravity Falls, hyped up on dream-madness to look extra weird. A lot about old-looking people who Bill found out were famous scientists from the past. A lot about perpetual motion machines that didn't work. A lot about beaches, stormy boat rides, and roller skating. 

And a lot, and he meant a lot, about Stanley Pines. 

Sure, Bill knew who this barrel-chested, tough looking dim-wit was. It didn't take an all-knowing dream-demon to notice the family resemblance between him and Stanford, even though the dream-Stan was stuck, frozen in time, appearing as the young man Ford had last seen him as. 

But, among the aforementioned subjects and the reoccurring motifs of jelly beans and sweaters and fire, Bill found one thing to be missing within this nightly dreamscape.

Himself. 

Sure, some nights he'd pop up in Ford's dreams, spouting lines he'd mentioned during the day or singing current top 40's songs or just floating around in the background.   
But it wasn't nearly as much as Bill expected. As much as Bill wanted.

Was he jealous? Oh please. No, definitely not. He was an almighty dimension-travelling demon, he didn't get jealous. Especially not over something as stupid as showing up less in a man's dreams than said man's estranged brother.

It was just that hanging around these emotional human life-forms was impacting his own emotional capacity and volatility. 

Really, how come Ford was so hung up on some idiot who had ruined his life years ago? Wasn't it about time he got over it? Wasn't it about time his subconscious started paying more attention to the present than the past? Wasn't it about time he-

No, Bill was definitely not jealous. Not at all. He was just fed up, that's all. 

He was infinitely hubristic and this puny life-form was not stroking his ego enough. 

So, eventually, he decided that enough was enough. He wasn't going to just sit and watch these movies. He was going to make them. And he was going to make them amazing.

After all, it wasn't like him to be this passive. When had he ever waited to get what he wanted?

At first he just tossed in random elements. A flaming drawbridge here. A three-headed, carnivorous desk lamp there. A couple tidal waves of techno-colored spiders for good measure. It was such fun, watching dream-Ford's face twist into surprise, or fear, or confusion, as he made his way through the new and improved mind-space minefield. And Bill laughed to himself when the man jolted himself awake, doused in a cold sweat and fear evident in his eyes.

Then, he tossed in visions of himself. He made "Bill" a character of almost every one of Ford's dreams. A guide through these sleep-induced adventures, always hovering by the man's shoulder. And he carefully watched Ford's reactions. What was that emotion, annoyance, gratefulness, stoic calmness? Come on, Fordsy, you could do better. Where were those erratic, raw human emotions? Were was the fury, the unabashed happiness, the anger, the lust? All those emotions the man never exuded in real life but should be able to in this warped dream-world. 

Bill wanted more. He needed more.

One night, it was just a simple touch. A tiny black hand on Ford's shoulder. The man looked at it, at the four inky digits resting on his sweater, and then at Bill, meeting his gaze.

" That’s odd,” he mumbled. 

" You’re odd," Bill countered.

Next time, it was a caress. He put his hand on Ford's shoulder, but then ran his fingers across the shoulder and up the back of his neck. It wasn't overly intimate, but Ford was a damn prude so he shivered, and Bill could tell his real-world body twitched too. 

" What’s the matter, Fordsy?" he asked, leaning close, his gaze intense, " never been touched like that before?"

Dream-Ford didn't grace him with a response, but it was okay, because his silence and flushed cheeks and his rapid awakening told Bill all he needed to know. 

Next, he let his hand wander further, over the man's pectorals, down his abdomen, feeling heat that was so utterly realistic for a dream it was almost like real life. But when a black finger snuck its way under the hem of Ford's sweater, the man grabbed his hand, glared at him with his cheeks an adorable bright pink, and woke up.

Oh wow, that expression. It stuck with Bill all throughout the day, and he could barely wait until the man fell asleep the next night. 

He brought his hand up this time, to Ford's face, resting his palm on that rough, stubble-covered cheek. It was like sandpaper, but still soft, pliable, skin truly was a marvel.

" I don't want this."

Ford's voice brought Bill's attention away from his hand and back to the dream-man before him. He chuckled in response, and moving his hand, slipped a finger between Ford's lips, pressing hard enough to part his lips and force his jaw open. 

" I don't want this." Ford repeated, voice not impeded by the finger pressing against his tongue.

" Yes you do." Bill replied, "of course you do. You're dreaming it, after all."

The look Ford fixed him in, oh it had an effect on him. It made some sort of emotion well up in the pit of his stomach (or where his stomach would be, if he had one), and he decided that that was enough, no more taking his time, he was going to do whatever he damn well pleased. 

All at once, the dreamscape, which had been clean and pale grey and boring under Ford's control, erupted into sheer madness. Ford's eyes darted around, confused, scared, and Bill could feel him try to wake up. But no, not this time, Bill had control now, he would not let this man wake up. Not right now. 

Taking his finger out of Ford's mouth, he placed both hands on the man's shoulders and pushed him to the ground, which had been hardwood but was now a freakish amalgamation of skin and velvet and steel. 

Ford struggled, but he seemed to realize that it was futile. He just glared at the demon above him, cheeks flushed from an array of emotions, and mumbled over and over. " I don't want this. I don't want this, I don't-"

" Hey, c'mon Fordsy, don't be like that." Bill cooed, snapping his fingers and releasing Ford from his sweater, leaving the man half naked. " Don’t knock it 'till you've tried it."

" Tried what?" 

Hmm, good question actually. What was it that Bill was doing? What did he want? He didn't want something as base as to revel in those carnal mortal pleasures, right? 

Oh hell yes he did. 

Should he take a human form? Surely that would make this easier. But no, that would make it so much less weird. And weird was what Bill lived for. So, Ford was going to get fucked by a triangle. 

How wonderful. If Bill had a mouth, he'd be beaming. 

If he had a mouth, he'd be kissing Ford.

A hot rush of something surged through the demon, and then he was removing Ford's pants, disintegrating his boots, turning his belt into a snake that slithered away quickly, completely ignoring the fact that underwear existed so they just disappear in the blink of an eye. And before him was Ford, naked, like Bill had seen before, of course, he followed Ford around in the real world wherever he pleased, but now it was so different. The air, it was so hot and almost tangible that Bill could almost breath it, almost feel it enter the lungs he didn't have. He could almost smell the sweat beading on Ford's forehead, of course the man would dream realistically enough for him to actually sweat. He could almost feel the heart he didn't have beating fast and hard in excitement in the thoracic cavity he didn't possess because he was two dimensional so of course he didn't have a thoracic cavity but right now it almost felt like he did. 

He felt alive. 

But them Ford's dream-self ruined everything. Eyes closed, reaching out with a six-fingered hand, he caressed the demon's cheek (or, where his cheek would be), and whispered, "Stanley."

Bill's form flickered. It was an odd sensation he'd never witnessed before. Ford's mind was racing in slumber, actively reworking the mental image of Bill and replacing his triangular form with flesh and blood and warmth and for the first time in literally ever Bill had a physical body. Yes, it was only a projection within a projection, an illusion within a dream but still, it felt so real. 

He had hands. He had a body. He had weight. He could feel the floor of the dreamscape beneath his feet, his human feet-in-socks-in-shoes. He was alive. 

The only thing that ruined the moment was knowing that Ford had clothed him in the form of the man's younger twin brother. 

" So this is what you want?" Bill asked, in Bill's-voice-but-not-quite-Bill's-voice as it was tinged with how Ford remembered his brother's voice to sound. 

" Yes, Stanley, yes, please, yes." and Ford was pulling him down, kissing him, Bill could feel lips on his newly formed lips and it was the best thing he'd had ever felt. It was so warm. 

" You’re a freak." Bill couldn't help but mutter, chuckling, his laughter tinged with pain and anger as Ford pulled him to the ground, their bodies pressed flush against each other. 

" I know, I know, I know..."

Bill closed his eyes, letting his other senses, the senses humans had that he didn't really have, take over and fill his mind with the multitude of external stimuli Ford was supplying him with. " I'm a freak too,” he breathed, barely loud enough to be heard, the words swallowed up by Ford's mouth as they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

This was not fun. This was not what Bill had planned. He wanted to make Ford submit to him, not to this stupid brother who Ford was supposed to hate. Ford was supposed to give him attention, care about him, love him, not love his brother. Not in this way.

It was still weird, but not the kind of weird that Bill wanted. 

The dreamscape shifted from form to form at breakneck speed, a slideshow of blink-and-you'll-miss-it horrors and atrocities melting and melding and screaming and ripping, all in the background as Bill forced himself on Ford. Now, this is what Bill had wanted to know, what Ford's body felt like, what he looked like when he had no control, what he cried out in the throes of passion. This is what Bill had wanted to see, Ford racked by these raw emotions of pain and lust and love and elation. This was what he had wanted all along, he to be the objects of Ford's dreams, to know that the man wanted him, needed him, worshiped him. 

This was almost everything he had wanted. 

As Ford lay there, breathing heavy in the afterglow, Bill let go, stood up, backed up, breaking away from the hold Ford's mind had had on him and he reverted to his triangular form. Ford gave him the strangest look, but he quickly snapped his fingers, and allowing Ford to wake up, he was ejected from the dreamscape, the fantasy nightmare-world crumbling away as the man groggily returned to the real world. 

He did it again. Bill created the same scenario again and again in Ford's mindspace, night after night. And every time, Ford's subconscious mind would twist the demon's form into that of his brother. And every time Bill would play along, because wearing Stanley Pines' skin gave him the one thing he realized that he would never get in his triangular form. 

That look of complete and utter adoration from Ford. 

He hated it. He loved it. 

He kept doing it. 

He kept tormenting Ford's dreams, making them nightmares of the highest caliber for every single dream-moment they were not having dream-sex. Because Bill was still in charge, damn it, and if he couldn't get Ford's affection he was going to make sure that he had control of absolutely everything else. 

He knew it was taking a toll on Ford's real life mental and physical state, the man was not sleeping well, his dreams were too turbulent. But Bill did not care, not anymore, he was getting what he wanted. Ford was building the inter-dimensional portal. That was all he wanted. He would be free, soon, to wreck unbridled havoc on this and other dimensions. 

It was everything he wanted. 

Yes, that was everything he wanted. 

Almost.


End file.
